Morning
by ginbug14
Summary: He pulls her in closer, still tangled in his sheets, and presses a kiss to her head, his own silent way of reminding her that yes, he does love her, and yes, this is real.


**Sweet little shot. Not that I have the inspiration or anything. ;)**

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She watches him sleep, eyelashes feathered against his cheeks, his breath fanning out lightly. He curls up against his pillow, clutching the sheets to his chest, and she is mesmerized. If she didn't have to wake him, she never would. He has never looked more peaceful, and she is reluctant to see it disappear. She hesitantly reaches a hand out to brush over his lips, but thinks better of it. Waking him is still such a disturbance to the way he looks and made her feel. But the clock reads off that she certainly does have to, and with that, she leans down and runs her lips over his cheek in a circle, placing careful kisses over his skin until he awoke. He begins to stir under her touch, and his eyes blink open slowly, drinking in the sight of her with messy hair and sleep ridden eyes hovering over his face, in his bed. His eyes close and his face tilts upward, searching for a soft kiss that's exactly what they need at this hour. Soft, gentle, familiar, loving. Their lips pressed together slowly, waking each other up from the inside out, and their noses nuzzle each other before a quiet 'good morning' slips from their lips. Their fingers find each other, lacing together as fingers stroke over skin. A hand finds her hip, smoothing over the skin left bare from the edge of her shirt, pushing at it until he's satisfied with the space his hand covers, drawing circles and digging slight, gaining purchase like she's the one thing that will anchor him to this day. Their lips meet again, slow and sleepy, and her hand finds his cheek, rubbing back and forth over the bone as he leans into her touch. It's simple, yet effective, and she finds her hand fits to his contours like she had never expected. He pulls her in closer, still tangled in his sheets, and presses a kiss to her head, his own silent way of reminding her that yes, he does love her, and yes, this is real. Even this early, it sends shivers down her spine. He brushes the mark on her neck carefully, cautious of her reaction, and presses a kiss to it.

"Did you sleep well?" he murmurs, running his nose over the spot as well. It's his mark, his declaration of ownership over her skin, and damned if it isn't the best thing he's ever seen on her.

"I slept well enough," she whispers back, recalling the difficulty of the new rules set in place by his parents and her struggle to sleep knowing she couldn't curl up next to him. "Could have been better if I was in your arms."

His hand finds her hip again, smoothing up to her waist and over her back, trying to soften the blow of a spotty night of sleep. His fingers trace over her spine, swirling in a haze of sleep and comfort. "Looks like the Hotel Eli didn't quite come through, then, did it?" he asks regretfully.

She cuddles into him, shaking her head. His ears smell like peppermints for some reason she can't explain, and it's calming. He's easily her constant, and she happily accepts it. "Not in the way we originally thought, but the morning service isn't quite that bad, now is it?"

His response is to pull her closer, hugging her to him like he's trying to pass something from his heart to hers. And maybe he is trying, trying to make her understand the love he has for her in a tiny moment, trying to fit all that he feels into this one perfect morning. It's easy to cuddle away from the world in his bed, holding her. Nothing else matters when there's the possibility of one day spending all their mornings in this fashion.

The smell of fresh coffee drifts up the stairs, and he stirs from their position on the bed, sniffing at the air. As much as she hates it, this is his salvation, he claims. Coffee wakes him up, but the girl next to him keeps him going. And if there is that God she believes in so deeply, then he prays that somehow, he gets this girl and these kinds of mornings forever. It's something to fight for, he thinks, and as trite as making a home together sounds, with her, it's not so bad. So when he turns to her and asks if she's joining him, he admires the way her legs fall from his sheets, imagining that it's their sheets, and their bed. Her arms wrap around him from behind and hold on tight, and in that moment, he swears to spend the rest of his life trying to make this happen again and again.

It's their morning. And so they grab cups of coffee and plates of bacon, and retreat back to the quiet simplicity of his room, enjoying the company and imagining their future.


End file.
